Shinji bent down and picked up that śarīra. Its milky white surface was smooth and round. Golden veins flowed between his fingers.
He could faintly sense an exceedingly pure power slumbering within. It was neither yōki nor reiryoku. It was something condensed from the vows that a Buddhist practitioner had walked and fulfilled over an entire lifetime. The System panel flickered.
[Buddha-Bone Śarīra: Quality — Divine Artifact. Affection: 0.]
[Note: Before his enlightenment and nirvana, Saint Hakurei condensed this crystallization of meritorious virtue from his own vow-power, lingering within the Guardian Spirit of the 'Six-Tusked White Elephant.' It contains the essence of Taigen Sessai's vow-power and the power of enlightenment. Currently in a dormant state. Cultivable. There is a probability of obtaining the Buddhist 'Five Supernatural Powers.']
As expected.
This was not the śarīra of Saint Hakurei. Saint Hakurei's physical body had long since transformed into a flesh-bodhisattva, becoming this sprawling Mount Hakurei.
Now that he had departed, the mountain, too, would crumble. His karmic deeds were complete and reconciled. Naturally, nothing remained. The origin of this śarīra… was another.
It belonged to Taigen Sessai. To be precise, it was the "vessel" of the Guardian Spirit that Taigen Sessai had bestowed upon Yoshimoto.
In contrast to Saint Hakurei, whose lingering attachments had now faded and who had truly become a buddha, Taigen Sessai still held lingering attachments in this world.
Her care for Yoshimoto had been far too deep. As a result, though her Buddhist cultivation was profound, residual attachments and obsessions still remained. Before her death, she had transformed her śarīra into the intangible and bestowed it upon Yoshimoto.
And now, Saint Hakurei had transformed it back into the tangible and gifted it or rather, returned it, to Shinji. And even more as expected, the tier of this Buddha-Bone Śarīra… was also Divine Artifact level.
On the same tier as the Sacred Tree. The Shikon no Tama. It was also the second Divine-Artifact-tier cultivable target he had obtained, following the Shikon no Tama reaching max Affection.
Though "Divine Artifact" did not necessarily mean it was definitively stronger, by now, Shinji had long since understood: Divine, Demon, and Mortal represented more of an attribute bias rather than a hierarchy of power.
The mightiest mortal artifact could potentially match a demon artifact. A powerful demon artifact would be no lesser than any divine artifact. But the lower limit of demon artifacts was far higher than that of mortal artifacts. And the lower limit of divine artifacts was higher still than that of demon artifacts. Divine artifacts were still precious.
Shinji tucked the śarīra into his robes. Then he looked down at himself. In this moment, the Shura Form had completely retracted back into his body.
After the Twelfth Transformation's Return to One, his body was utterly unrecognizable from before. Pale, flowing hair cascaded down his back. The ends were stained with a faint, ghostly trace of blood-red.
The two short horns on either side of his forehead had also retracted. The bone was hidden beneath his hairline. Unless one looked very carefully, they would never be discovered.
The five-colored veins within his crimson demon eyes had also fallen still. Only the scarlet base and that exceedingly fine ring of golden light at the outer edge of his pupils remained.
His skin now had warmth. A pulse was beating. The Demon's Breath operated autonomously. His chest rose and fell faintly. Every breath expelled air. True breath.
Beyond that, his organs were operating smoothly. With the organs as their core, countless pulsing, active meridians were silently extending outward. The Five Viscera, were transforming into the Six Bowels.
Standing here, he appeared to be a young warrior of Sixteen or Seventeen. Pale complexion. Cold, severe bearing. Carrying two blades at his waist. A greatsword strapped across his back. His hair was a bit whiter. A bit longer. His eyes a bit redder.
Beyond that, in outward appearance, he was a genuine, living person. Yet as long as he willed it, the horns could sprout forth at any moment. The scale armor could once again sheathe his body. The Shura Form could unfurl at any instant. The Five Viscera and Three Souls could be maxed out in a single breath. To shift from the appearance of a living man, to a great demon, a great ma. It was only a thought away.
This sensation was deeply wondrous. Like finally putting on a set of perfectly fitted clothes. All the previous patching and stitching, now became utterly, naturally justified.
"Have you put it away properly?" Kikyō's voice came from behind him. She stood at the collapsed breach of the corridor. Her longbow was stowed behind her back. Her white uwagi and crimson hakama were dusted with a fine powder of shattered stone. Her black hair was slightly tousled by the mountain wind.
A few stray strands clung to her cheeks. Upon her cold, clear features, no extraneous emotion could be read. But Shinji had known her long enough. Long enough to read, from the barely perceptible curve of the tail of her brow, that she was holding back. What she was holding back.... needed no guess.
"Put away properly," he replied. His voice was kept level.
Kikyō gave a single Mn. Her gaze swept across his face. It paused for half a second at the position of his lips. Then shifted away.
On the other side, Imagawa Yoshimoto still hadn't risen from the shattered stone floor. Her deep purple and gold-threaded kimono was crumpled into a heap. Her loosened hair clung to her neck. The left hair ornament was askew. The right hairpin had fallen to who-knew-where.
Yet her face was still flushed. From her earlobes to her temples. Even her neck was pink. Her fingers unconsciously brushed against her own lower lip. She touched it, then pulled back. Pulled back, then couldn't help but touch it again.
She was still thinking, that moment she had been thrown off the white elephant, it really had been an accident. Her lips arriving before her hands, really had been an accident too. But a kiss was a kiss. And besides, it seemed to have lasted quite a while?
No, it had clearly only been a fleeting moment. But why, in retrospect, did it feel so long? Yoshimoto's mind was a complete mess of tangled paste. She struggled to her feet, dusted off her kimono, and tried to reclaim the dignity of the ruler of three provinces.
Then she saw Kikyō. Kikyō was also looking at her. The two of them stood less than ten paces apart. Their gazes intersected. The air fell still in their wake. In the end, it was Yoshimoto who averted her gaze first. Kikyō withdrew her own. Neither spoke.
But the sheer volume of information exchanged in that single instant, to Yoshimoto, felt even greater than three thousand—no, thirty thousand words of administrative reports from three provinces.
Shinji stood between the two of them. Kikyō on his left. Yoshimoto on his right. He could feel the gazes shooting at him from both directions. One cold. One hot. Both landing squarely upon him. The atmosphere was exquisitely, impossibly delicate.
"Th-that—" Yoshimoto was the first to open her mouth. Her voice still carried a tremor that hadn't fully faded. "Just now... that was the white elephant's fault. It wasn't me—I didn't do it on purpose—"
"I know." Kikyō's calm voice picked up the sentence. Her tone was far too calm.
So calm that Yoshimoto, instead, grew even more flustered. "It really was an accident! The white elephant flew over on its own. I originally meant to use my hand—"
"Mn." Kikyō responded with another single syllable. Mn. Just Mn. Yoshimoto shut her mouth. She had a vague feeling that if she kept talking, she might die. Not killed by a yōkai. But "taken care of" by a miko. Of course, more likely than death, was being sealed and wishing she were dead.
After several seconds of this silence, Kikyō turned toward Shinji. "Your thoughts, Shinji." Her tone was as even as ever.
But Shinji heard it. This was not her giving him a way out. This was her, sincerely, wanting to hear what he had to say. He thought for a moment. Then he spoke.
"Kikyō." He called her name. Kikyō looked at him. Shinji was silent for two seconds. Then he smiled. Not his usual smile. A forthright smile.
"I'll speak the truth." He met Kikyō's eyes. "Yoshimoto is extremely important to my plans. The Imagawa are the faction I chose. Taigen Sessai entrusted her to me. The white elephant's power was only able to reach me because of her. But if it were only these things, there would be no conflict with you. You are you. She is she. Cooperation is cooperation." Kikyō made no sound. She waited for him to continue. Yoshimoto also held her breath. Her heart was pounding with trepidation.
"The issue is...." Shinji's crimson demon eyes, beneath the golden ring, seemed especially candid. "She has feelings for me. I can see it. And as for me, toward her...." He paused. Yoshimoto's heart leaped into her throat. Kikyō's fingertips tightened faintly. "I also like her."
Yes. Shinji's impression of Imagawa Yoshimoto had never been poor from the very start. Though she couldn't compare to Kikyō, she was still a black-haired, straight-banged beauty. Saving her in the beginning had partly been for this reason.
The subsequent cooperation, had also, to some degree, carried this element of physical attraction. After that, hearing how she had spared no effort in helping him search for Tōtōsai, it had only grown more so. And liking was liking.
As a demon eroded by desire and impure energy, and as a human, Shinji had understood from the very beginning that he would find it difficult to be singularly devoted. What he could do, was be absolutely honest. Absolutely responsible. Never abandon. And to pursue, with absolute power, with a strength unrivaled in both heart and force, to accomplish these things!
The instant those three words fell, Yoshimoto's face flushed even redder. At the same time something indefinable surfaced within it. Kikyō's brow shifted faintly.
"So what you mean is—"
"Whether it's you or her. No matter who. I will not give up on any of you." Shinji spoke these words. Crisp. Decisive. Utterly unadorned. Just as his style had always been.
He never spoke in circles. "However… as I promised you before, you are the first. That will not change." He looked at Kikyō. "I won't lie and say I feel nothing for others. That would be an insult to your judgment. But whether it's you, or anyone or anything else, I will not give up."
After all this was what it meant to be a demon. A yōkai, different from the ordinary. A ma's desire. Obsession. An extraordinary desire and obsession, was, in itself, the very essence of a demon.
Kikyō fell silent. Yoshimoto also fell silent. The mountain wind gusted in through the collapsed breach of the corridor, whipping at the hems and hair of both women.
This silence stretched for a very long time. Yet it also seemed to last only a single instant.
Then Kikyō suddenly moved. Her steps were neither fast nor slow. The edges of her white uwagi and crimson hakama brushed against the shattered stone floor, producing a fine, rustling whisper. Shinji did not move. He simply watched her with his crimson demon eyes as she drew near.
Watched her stop before him. Kikyō's expression was very calm. Upon her cold, clear features, as always, neither joy nor anger could be read.
But her hand lifted. The cuff of her sleeve. The wide cuff of her white miko robes. She held it in her hand, like a silk handkerchief. Then she reached toward his face. Shinji blinked. The fabric of her cuff pressed against his lips. Very carefully. Once. Twice. Three times. Wiping.
From the left corner of his lips to the right corner. From the lower lip to the upper lip. The pressure was neither heavy nor light. As though she was wiping dust from the surface of her most precious treasure. Or rather, someone else's traces. In truth, that was exactly what it was.
Yoshimoto, standing ten paces away, saw this gesture. Her entire body went rigid. Her mouth opened, then closed. She wanted to say something. But her throat felt as though it had been sealed shut. She couldn't speak.
Kikyō finished wiping very quickly. The cuff of her sleeve withdrew and fell back to her side. She glanced down at her own cuff. Her face was expressionless. Then she lifted her head. Her dark pupils stared directly into his crimson demon eyes. Less than three sun apart.
"You've truly...." she spoke. Her voice was very soft. So soft only the two of them could hear. "Come alive."
She could, indeed, feel Shinji's life. Feel that warmth, so different from before. Feel that heartbeat, utterly real, utterly natural. His heart was stirring, because of her.
At that single thought, all the tangled emotions within Kikyō's heart dispersed like smoke. That discomfort, which she had been prepared for, yet still lingered. That faint aversion. Everything.
In the end, only a single point remained. As long as he is happy. As long as he remains by my side. As long as he hides nothing from me. Trusts me.
Kikyō loved this honesty and trust. Loved this Shinji. From the very beginning, it had always been so. Everything else, was merely minor, peripheral details. A miko living in an age of endless war had never asked for much.
"Almost done." As her words fell, both hands clasped the back of his head. Her ten fingers threaded into his white, flowing hair. Her fingertips touched the warm scalp beneath the roots of his hair. It was indeed warm. With a temperature. The body heat of the living.
Kikyō pulled his head down and pressed her lips against his. But this was no light, fleeting kiss, no mere brush of the lips that barely lingered. It was deep and deliberate, the kind of kiss they had shared countless times before. She bit down hard on his lower lip, as though sealing it with a mark that could never be erased.
Shinji's arms naturally wrapped around her waist. His palm pressed against the small of her back. The fabric of her miko robes was very thin. So thin he could clearly feel the curve of her waist's hollow. Kikyō's body was softer than before. And warmer. And he himself, at last, had a body temperature that could match that warmth.
She released him. Then pressed close again. Repeatedly. Each time harder than the last. From his lips to the line of his jaw. From his jaw to the side of his neck. She was, in the most direct way possible, overlaying her own presence upon him.
As though to overwrite every trace that Yoshimoto had left behind. And as though to declare. "I heard what you said." Kikyō spoke in a low voice beside his ear. Her breath fell against the hollow of his neck. "You won't give up on anyone. I believe you. And I accept this way of thinking. But you must... first.... make up for what you owe me."
As she finished, her hand slid from the back of his head to his chest. Her palm pressed against the place where his heart beat.
She felt it for two seconds.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A steady, powerful heartbeat. Transmitted through her palm. Kikyō's lashes fluttered. The curve at the corner of her lips was nearly imperceptible. Yet it truly, genuinely lifted by half a measure. Then her hand continued downward from his chest, and was caught by Shinji's.
"There are still people here," he said. Kikyō lifted her eyes to look at him. Within her dark pupils, his face was reflected. Then, the miko revealed a faint, shallow smile. "I know."
After speaking these two words, her right hand lifted. Reiryoku surged from her fingertips. White threads of light spread from her palm in every direction. Within a radius of 9 meter around the two of them, they wove into a thin, translucent curtain of light. A barrier. Not for defense. Not for sealing. Nor for purification.
This was a barrier of concealment. From the outside, the curtain of light appeared as a blur of white mist. Nothing could be seen. Nothing could be heard. And it was, moreover, a full three-hundred-sixty-degree encirclement. With Kikyō's depth of reiryoku, it was the complete equivalent of a separate spatial dimension, detached from the domain of Mount Hakurei. Even gods and buddhas could not see through it.
....
Inside the barrier the white mist sealed them completely from the world.
Kikyō spread the camping mat across the broken stone with quick, decisive motions. Then she pushed Shinji down onto it. Her hands moved with unusual urgency, already tugging at the ties of his robes.
Shinji caught her wrists before she could finish. A low, amused sound left his throat.
"Aren't you a little too desperate?"
In one smooth motion he reversed their positions, settling her beneath him. Kikyō's breath hitched.
He lowered his head and kissed the side of her neck. Her skin was soft, warm, faintly sweet. He lingered there, tasting the pulse that raced under his lips, then slowly worked lower. The open edges of her miko robes parted easily under his hands.
Beneath them the thin dudou clung to her, the small cloth unable to contain the soft swell of her breasts. Cleavage and the outer curves of her sides were already half-bared, pale and inviting in the muted light of the barrier.
Shinji trailed kisses from her collarbone down into the valley between her breasts. He licked the skin there, slow and deliberate, before drawing the dudou aside and letting it fall.
Her breasts spilled free, neither large nor small, but full and perfectly shaped for his hands. The nipples were a soft brown against the her milky white skin.
He took one into his mouth and sucked, tongue circling, while his other hand gently kneaded the opposite breast. Kikyō's back arched.
"Ahh… Shinji… ahh—"
Her voice had already lost its usual composure. Heat flushed across her chest and throat. Watching him taste her so thoroughly only made the ache between her legs sharper.
"Enough… haah… give it to me now."
She had waited long enough. Her entire body felt taut, restless, almost aching for him.
Shinji did not answer with words. He drew her hakama down, then the thin, already-soaked undergarment. Her sex was flushed and glistening, the soft folds wet and open, waiting. A thin thread of moisture clung to the inner lips.
"You're so wet, Kikyō…"
He stroked her gently with two fingers, parting the slick folds. Her hips jerked; a soft, broken sound escaped her.
"Mmmh… haah… Shinji… please."
Her face was deeply flushed, lips parted, the cold reserve she usually wore completely gone.
Shinji rose just long enough to shed his own robes and trousers. His body had changed after the Twelfth Transformation, lean muscle more defined, skin no longer corpse-pale but carrying a living warmth. When he freed himself, Kikyō's breath caught.
His cock was thicker and longer than before, dark with blood, heavy veins coiling along the shaft and pulsing faintly. It looked almost alive, ominous and unmistakably inhuman.
A flicker of genuine surprise and something darker passed through her eyes.
"I-Is that supposed to look like that?"
"Probably not entirely," Shinji answered, voice rough. He guided the head of his cock against her entrance and dragged it slowly through her wetness, coating himself. "Maybe because I'm a demon."
Kikyō moaned at the friction, hips shifting restlessly.
"Are you ready?" he asked. Even he sounded strained now. For the first time since he had regained a living body, desire burned through him without restraint.
"Mmh… yes… let's become one."
He positioned himself carefully. Even half-mad with need, he remembered this was her first time. He pressed in slowly, feeling her tight heat open around him, until he met resistance.
"Kikyō. Look at me."
She lifted her eyes. The golden ring that now circled his scarlet pupils caught the light; the short horns at his hairline made him look even less human, yet somehow more striking.
Then he pushed through.
A sharp, pained sound tore from her throat as her hymen tore. Shinji immediately lowered his head and kissed her, deep and slow, swallowing the sound. His tongue stroked hers until the tension in her body eased. When they finally broke apart, a thin strand of saliva still connected their lips.
"I'm going to move," he warned softly.
He sank the rest of the way in. Kikyō's moan was low and long. Her inner walls clenched tightly around him, hot and slick, drawing another rough sound from his chest.
He began to thrust, steady, deep, careful at first. Kikyō's soft cries filled the barrier with every stroke.
"Ahh… ahh… ahh…"
Each time he drove into her, pleasure sparked up her spine. Her juices mixed with the thin smear of virgin blood, coating him completely.
"You like it?" Shinji asked, voice darker now. Seeing her face twisted with pleasure only fed the hunger in him. He shifted the angle and thrust deeper.
"AHHH—wait—ahhh—ahh—"
Her legs locked around his waist, heels pressing into his back as if to keep him buried inside her. Her arms wound tightly around his shoulders.
He kept going, longer, harder. Kikyō came again and again, body shaking, tongue slipping past her parted lips, eyes glassy with pleasure. Their sweat mixed; the wet sound of their joining filled the sealed space.
At last Shinji's rhythm faltered. He buried himself to the hilt and came with a low groan, pulsing deep inside her. Kikyō's back arched sharply as the heat flooded her.
When it was over he collapsed beside her and pulled her into his arms. For a long moment neither of them spoke.
Then, very quietly, against her hair:
"I love you, Kikyō."
It was the first time he had said the words.
Kikyō's eyes filled. The tears that had not fallen when he took her virginity spilled now. She held him tighter, face pressed to his chest.
"I love you too, Shinji."
They stayed like that, skin to skin, breathing the same air....
....
Meanwhile Outside the barrier,
Yoshimoto: "…"
The young daimyō stood ten paces away, staring at that mass of white mist. Because of her proximity, she had, in fact, already entered the interstitial layer between the reiryoku and the outside world.
So she could hear some indistinct, fragmented sounds. She could hear, within that white mist, the faint, occasional rustle of fabric. And a single, exceedingly soft laugh, pressed down within a throat. It was Shinji's.
In this moment, he was truly, thoroughly unleashed. Able to vent and release without restraint. Immediately following, was the muffled thud of something pressing against a stone wall. Then silence. Yoshimoto didn't need to see to know what they were doing. Her face first flushed red. Then went white. Then flushed red again.
"Hey—" She opened her mouth. But by now....no one was paying her any attention. "HEY!!" The white mist did not stir in the slightest. Yoshimoto bit her lower lip and stood there. Her hands clutched the hem of her kimono. Her knuckles were bone-white. Her face burned as though it was about to catch fire. Her dignity as the ruler of three provinces, as the First Archer of the Tōkaidō, was being ground into the dirt and rubbed back and forth.
She..... just now..... kissed that bastard! It was an accident! But she really did kiss him! And then that man, right in front of her, said he liked her.... she heard it too! He said he wouldn't give up on anyone.... didn't that include her?! And then he turned around.... and another woman immediately wiped his mouth, kissed him, and threw up a barrier to shut her outside?! Whatever happened to not giving up on anyone?! Why..... was this now a situation where she was being left out?!
Yoshimoto stood amidst the shattered stone. Her hair was loose. Her clothes were disheveled. Her face was red with fury. Her bright, luminous eyes glared at that mass of white mist. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.
It was clearly Taigen Sessai's arrangement. Clearly the white elephant's fault. Clearly… she hadn't meant to do that either… though she didn't dislike it… no—she should say she was very happy about it? But. That trace of icy cold still lingering on her lips.... that taste of yōki.... was undeniably real. And he said he liked her. He really did say it.
"Said he wouldn't give up…" Yoshimoto's voice was so small it was nearly inaudible. Only she herself could hear it. "WHY AM I THE ONE BEING LEFT OUT?!"
Within the white mist, all was still and silent. Occasionally, a murmur drifted out. Exceedingly soft. Its content indiscernible. But the tone… was Kikyō's.
The tips of Yoshimoto's ears flushed completely crimson. She spun around fiercely, turning her back to that mass of white mist. Her arms folded across her chest. Her chin lifted high.
Three seconds later, she secretly turned her head and glanced back. The white mist was still white mist. Yet the mist surged and churned. Like water flowing over a mountain ridge. Soaking into the forest. A stone dropping into a deep pool, sending up a spray of white foam.
"…Bastard." The young daimyō squeezed out those two words. Her voice carried frustration. Shame. Unwillingness. And something she herself hadn't noticed. A very faint, shallow anticipation. It wasn't her turn yet. But still, she could look forward to it, couldn't she? In the future. Look forward to it… a living Shinji…
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